Moseley: Farewell, Emmett, from a mugwump

Published 12:21 pm, Saturday, May 16, 2015

"You mugwump, you put the carbon paper in backwards."

This was the ancient time of typewriters and Emmett Spillane was ruling his domain, the Bridgeport Post and Telegram sports desk, the territory that he commanded with style for more than 40 years. I was a cub reporter fresh out of college and a bit intimidated by his oversized presence. He was known as "The Pharoah."

In a business known for unusual characters, Emmett was simply unforgettable. He would call you a mugwump one minute, then pat you on the back the next.

"Colorful" doesn't begin to describe Em the Gem.

This was the 1970s, the time of Lou Grant, and Emmett wasn't that different from the TV character. There was the time he greeted a new employee on his first night by taking him out for a few beers at the Panama Inn in Bridgeport. Maybe he wanted to get to know the kid or maybe he just wanted to visit his buddy, Joe Falco, who owned the joint. At any rate, the two were drinking beer and the night was slipping away, when Emmett suddenly announced, "OK, we have to go back to work now." The new employee was shocked, but the morning Telegram got out on time. Newspapers were run a little bit looser in those days.

Another night was impossibly busy, with the phone ringing off the hook. There was barely time to look up from our work. A call came in, and Emmett finally picked it up.

"I'd like to report a swim meet," the caller said.

"Did anyone drown?" the Pharoah asked.

"Why, no," replied the astonished voice.

"Then we don't want it," Em growled, slamming the phone down.

One time a staffer who had a passion for soccer -- not exactly Emmett's cup of tea -- returned from a high school game and handed in a rather lengthy story.

"How can you write 30 inches on a zero-zero tie?" asked Emmett incredulously.

"You mugwump."

But beneath the gruff exterior was a wonderful guy with a soft heart, especially for his staff of young reporters. Between beers, Emmett taught us all a lot and we were privileged to have him as a sports editor. He didn't flaunt it, but he possessed a remarkable grasp of the English language, always doing crossword puzzles after the paper was put to bed (In those days, you had to wait for proofs to come up to make corrections). His weekly "Sports Whirl" column was a must-read and a fixture in the community.

Emmett loved sports writing.

It was his life's calling. Moreover, he loved it when his staff succeeded. In the 1980s, we received the dream-come-true news that the paper would allow us to cover pro beats, traveling with the New York Giants and New York Jets. No one was happier than Emmett.

When I approached him one day requesting the flexibility to do a diary on a 7-foot-7-inch basketball phenom from Sudan named Manute Bol, who had just arrived at the University of Bridgeport, Emmett was more than agreeable and made sure it got in the paper. It's a good thing, too, because the "Dinka Dunker" only stayed at UB for one year before turning pro. Emmett trusted his staff and gave writers the freedom to pursue stories.

Emmett was an old-style sports editor who knew the community and the local sports scene better than anyone. He coached many strong Senior City League baseball teams sponsored by the Homeport, the Panama Inn (fittingly) and Bridgeport Jai Alai on which I played, along with his son Emmett Jr. (whom he affectionately called Ace). During games Emmett would stand behind the bench at Seaside Park, sunglasses and ball cap on, filling in the scorebook. He always looked serene on a ball field. He was so dedicated to the league that, for a while, he would compute and publish the batting averages of every Senior City League player in the Sunday Post. You didn't want to be the amateur player with .179 next to your name.

Emmett recently passed away at age 82 and people poured out of Adzima Funeral Home and St. James Church in Stratford to pay tribute to him. But before he died, his son Sean reports that, from his bedside, Em got a kick out of seeing American Pharoah win the Kentucky Derby. The Pharoah went out a winner.

Rest in peace, Emmett, from all the mugwumps who enjoyed knowing you.

Bob Moseley is a copy editor/page designer at the Connecticut Post. Email: rmoseley@ctpost.com.